


Valhalla Diner

by HBossWrites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted American Sign Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Idiots Pining, Kismet Diner AU, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Origami, Out of Character, Red vs Blue Multiverse, References to Sentient Pie, The Author Fails at Being Funny, Vic the Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9928229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HBossWrites/pseuds/HBossWrites
Summary: Everybody wants to be loved, dudes and dudettes. Lots of people want to be in love. That funny flipping feeling you get in your stomach is a sought-after sensation and making gooey eyes at another person is practically a national pastime.My name is Vic, and I collect stories from all over the multiverse. Some are happy, some are sad, some are weird (like that universe where we’re all fish or the one where we’re slices of sentient pie).In this universe, David Washington works at Valhalla Diner and pines over Maine, while Maine pines after him. This is a love story based around smiles, soft cooked bacon, and origami frogs.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an adaptation of the video 'Cornetto Cupidity, Kismet Diner'. I have no idea how this managed to spring out of that, since the original draft was only 300 words long...

_Everybody wants to be loved, dudes and dudettes. Even the most isolated people like to know that they are cared about._

_Lots of people want to be in love. That funny flipping feeling you get in your stomach is a sought-after sensation and making gooey eyes at another person is practically a national pastime._

_But how many people looking for love believe they’re gonna find it, dudes? Not that many._

_My name is Vic, and I collect stories from all over the multiverse. Some are happy, some are sad, some are weird (like that universe where we’re all fish or the one where we’re slices of sentient pie)._

_In this universe, Project Freelancer is a military training program, but so far no one’s died. The AI are all people, and Valhalla is a diner in Blood Gulch where the Freelancer base is hosted. Does that make sense?_

_Too bad, sucks to be you._

_This story is, unsurprisingly, a love story. This one’s gay love story, dudes. So, if you’ve got problems with the homo, turn back now and seek out other sources of entertainment, cause it’s about to get really gay in this fic._

** NOVEMBER 1ST **

 

The diner was always busy.

 

The Valhalla Diner was settled into a financial sweet spot. The quality to cost ratio was just about perfect, it was nestled close to two bars, a police station, the local military base, within spitting distance of the community college, and right down the street from the local shabby theatre that never got the good movies and always seemed to have a room dedicated to the screening of Reservoir Dogs.

 

Since there wasn’t much to do in Blood Gulch, the diner was a destination spot for many of the locals with little pocket money and lots of time on their hands.

 

The diner was always especially busy on weekends.

 

David Washington was the newest member of The Valhalla Diner crew, but he fit as if he’d been there from the very beginning. He’d been military before an honorable discharge and some serious PTSD took him out of commission. In between the then and the now, he took some time to languish in despair in a poorly maintained and frankly scuzzy apartment that felt more like a prison than a home, before he stumbled into Valhalla and made his way into the insane family as a freelancing ‘Blue’.

 

Back in the early days Red Shift worked mornings and afternoons and Blue Shift worked afternoons and evenings. Times had changed, the employees weren’t nearly as divided, but Sarge, the old timer on grill still felt the need to make the distinction as if one shift was inherently better than the other.

 

Wash, as the most organized and responsible employee, would work evenings as well as any shifts that needed covering during any day or time.

 

The fact of the matter was that David didn’t want to be home any more than he had to be. When he was alone the quiet got to him. It was better to be at the diner where he could be useful, even if he wasn’t on shift. On his off days he would watch Junior, bake with Caboose, and ruthlessly tutor the college students who moaned and groaned but were there in Valhalla four days a week and took his instructions seriously.

 

_Now you’d be forgiven for thinking Washington is just a waiter, despite his scars and muscular physique. He spent a great deal of time trying to make himself look harmless, since people tend to get nervous if their waiter looks like they can bench press them, but if someone told you he’d been a soldier, a cop, or an enforcer for the mafia, well…you probably wouldn’t be surprised. You might be surprised to know that he’s a songwriter, a skateboarder, and a hopeless romantic._

_I tell you dudes, when Wash isn’t busy chasing his coworkers down to do their jobs or being especially self-conscious, you can go to Valhalla and hear Washington sing to himself as he works on a new song._

_He’s damned good. Trust me, dudes, I listen to him all the time._

_“You can make me a ring_

_From a milk bottle top.”_

Wash scrubbed down the table in front of him. He’d had a tune in his head for some time, but the words always seemed to fight him on this one. He was sure he’d get there eventually, but it was frustrating to have the words wriggle and slip out of his grip so easily.

 

_“When the money runs out in the meter,_

_maybe we’ll stop.”_

He looked up at Tucker, who’d stopped flirting with Sister long enough to grin and nod, and decided that would work for the time being. It wasn’t as if the song was going to go anywhere while he figured things out.

 

Time didn’t seem to have an effect in Valhalla, one day was almost always like the next, which was how Wash like things. Relatively predictable was something he hadn’t had since basic training years back, and he’d missed it. It was comfortable and safe. His port in the tumultuous storm that was his life.

 

_But dudes, we need changes to move us forward, to make us better, to give us purpose. A_   _person is not a machine, dudes. Wash was about to get a big change in the form of a big_ _guy with eyes like sorrow and scars that told a story to everyone who looked._

During a hectic Saturday evening, a couple came into the restaurant.

 

_Told you._

She was gorgeous. Her hair was fire truck red in a meticulously neat ponytail, her arms looked like she could punch a man to death with her bare hands, and her face said that she wanted to. She strode into the diner first, swept the seating area, and stepped out of the doorway to let the man pass.

 

He was at least seven feet tall with muscles that would put any professional linebacker to shame. He was bald, and his face and neck were covered in fresh scarring that looked as if it had only just started to heal over. He had an intricate tattoo on the back of his head, and a firmly placed poker face.

 

_Don’t forget about the eyes, Wash was very specific about that part._

His eyes were chocolate brown, wary and weary, unsure of his welcome in the crowded diner. He stood just inside the doorway, slightly hunched in on himself. It was clear that the man did not feel comfortable in the space he occupied.

 

Both were dressed in military fatigues.

 

Normally Wash let Sister, Tucker, or even Donut take the military types that came through. They were all suckers for uniforms and battle scars, and Wash didn’t like to remind himself of his defunct career.

 

There was something about them that made Washington rush over and grab menus before anyone else got the chance. Maybe it was the tension in their shoulders. The tight lines on her face that said she’d been on the defense for too long, or the rolling waves of nerves that came from the man who must have recently been given the go ahead to go without covering his injuries.

 

Washington knew what it was like to try to hide wounds. He knew even better what it was to force yourself to expose them.

 

“Hi there, welcome to Valhalla, is it just the two of you?”

 

“Yeah, any chance for a booth?”

 

Wash nodded and motioned to where Caboose had just finished wiping down a table and watched the man grin as he saw Church duck into the back office for his break.

 

“He’ll be done in just a second.”

 

Once they’d been seated, the woman immediately ordered two coffees and brought the menu up to cover her face. With a smile, Wash went to the bar and poured, a new tune began to unfurl in his head. He dropped off the drinks, picked up their orders from the woman, and grabbed a scrap of paper to scratch down the lines.

 

When he brought over their meals, the man gave Washington a self-conscious smile. Wash smiled back, genuine and without pity. He didn’t know if the man could tell, but he hoped. Wash felt that the man was far braver than he had been after he'd been...hurt, and he didn’t need a stranger to feel bad for him.

 

“Anything else I can get you?”

 

The man tapped his half empty coffee cup and gulped down the rest of the contents.

 

“Gotcha, I’ll be right back.”

 

Tucker caught Wash’s eye on the way back to the bar and met him at the coffee pot, an eager grin on his face. Washington knew that look, it always preceded the young man saying something idiotic or infuriating. As expected, Tucker cocked his hip to the side and loudly proclaimed his intent.

 

“Damn man, I’d like to take both of them back to my place and have them show me the stars and stripes, know what I’m saying? Bow chika wow wow.”

 

Wash smacked the back of Tucker’s head, a furious scowl on his face.

 

“Do _not_ say things like that where you can be overheard. If you’re going to be a creep, be a creep where the customers don’t have to deal with you. Do you want to get punched _again_?”

 

Tucker slunk off to the kitchen, a hand pressed to the back of his head as Wash made his way back to the table with the coffee carafe in hand. The woman’s face was more tense than when she’d come in originally, and Washington knew that Tucker had put his foot into it...again.

 

“Does that happen often?”

 

Her voice was sharp as broken glass, and Wash winced as he poured the coffee.

 

“Unfortunately. He’s got no filter and is a completely obnoxious flirt. Sorry. If it makes a difference, he’s definitely improved over the years.”

 

She sighed and shook her head. It took conscious effort on her part, but she managed to school her expression into a less violent version of the one she wore before.

 

“It’s just a joke, right? He acts like an idiot to get the laugh, and life moves on?”

 

“It’s not meant to be at your expense. Mostly he feels the need to present himself as a macho Lothario type to compensate for being perpetually single and completely undatable.”

 

She looked like she was about to say something else, but the man shook his head and she waved Wash off. The man idly played with a paper napkin on the table, his hands languidly worked the paper.

 

When Wash brought the bill to the table, he made sure that they received a 10% military discount and $5 off each for having to deal with Tucker. Wash got caught up at a family of four’s table when they paid and left, but he saw the man snap a picture of the bulletin board next to the exit on the way out, and smiled.

 

He had a song to write.

 

_See, Wash was shy when it came to things that actually mattered to him. He could take orders for days, but back then it was almost impossible to get him to sing in front of people, something he loved more than he could properly express outside of 4/4 time. So, the Valhalla crew put together a flyer with an advertisement for live music the first and third Tuesday of every month._

 

What Wash didn’t see was the red head telling her companion that her brother organized the event for one of his employees. He didn’t see the man’s fond smile directed at him.

 

Wash did see the ‘Thank you! :)’ written onto the receipt with a $15 tip. He also saw the tiny origami butterfly made out of a napkin that was left on the table.

** NOVEMBER 8TH – FIRST TUESDAY **

 

There were more seats filled than usual for a Tuesday night. Word had gotten around with the regulars that Wash was going to perform that night, and there was a buzz through the restaurant. Anyone who put up with the sometimes rude and always obnoxious employees of Valhalla long enough would get to see past the walls they put up. Wash was a regular favorite; he remembered orders and allergies, never let a cup get empty, and always made sure that the people under his care were as happy as they could be.

 

It was no wonder that there were some familiar faces that didn’t usually come around at night.

 

Twenty minutes before Wash was supposed to start, the man came in with the woman, who Wash discovered was Church’s sister Carolina, as well as another man and woman who had similar enough features that Wash assumed that they were related.

 

They both were built and had blond hair, though the woman’s had purple tips. All four of them wore military fatigues, and walked with a certain edge that said the clothes were not for show.

 

Wash saw Sister make a beeline to them, but he stole the menus out of her hand and pointed to the office before she could say a word.

 

“Ugh, why?”

 

“Because you are incorrigible. Besides, you need to go on break now if we want to stay on schedule for tonight.”

 

Sister scoffed.

 

“I’ll encourage _your_ bull.”

 

She stomped off to the back room, muttering unintelligibly to herself.

 

“That didn’t make any sense.”

 

“It does if you’re not a cop! COP!”

 

“I am not a cop! Why would I be a cop and work here?!”

 

The new woman’s face took on a playful grin and she laughed. Sister turned and winked at her before she ducked into the office and closed the door.

 

Wash led them to a horseshoe booth in the back of the seating area, which happened to have a perfect view of the tiny performance space they’d cleared out, and took their orders. He tried to smile and keep light conversation going, but he couldn’t stop the nerves that caused his hands to shake slightly as he wrote. When he brought the drinks back, the blond man grabbed his attention.

 

“Hey, live music tonight, right? Is the performer any good?”

 

“Well, the crew seems to like him. Personally, I think he could stand a little more practice before we throw him in front of an audience. Tucker’s going to be taking over for me in just a few minutes, but until then if you need anything, just let me know.”

 

Wash rushed off to get refills for the college kids in the corner and missed the expressions the four soldiers wore.

 

“Wow, that’s shitty.”

 

South and North looked unimpressed. Carolina frowned and drummed her fingers across the tabletop.

 

“Weird, he was great last time we were here. Maybe he hates the performer?”

 

“That’s still unprofessional.”

 

Carolina laughed.

 

“Last time we were here my brother’s friend, the one with the dreads, told our waiter he wanted to see if he could make Maine and I see the stars and stripes when we came. They’re not exactly known for being professional, I still expected better from him though. He seemed more…put together, I suppose.”

 

They all watched as Donut waved Washington into the back room. The man checked every table as he passed to make sure everyone was taken care of, before he disappeared to arrange the act.

 

Tucker came over to the table with a platter.

 

“Hey Carolina, got your stuff. I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

 

As Tucker passed out the plates, Maine snorted slightly. Carolina motioned to the back.

 

“So, what does he have against the performer?”

 

Tucker looked confused and a little offended.

 

“Who?”

 

“The other server.”

 

Tucker looked to the back, where Donut had Junior in hand and carried a chair for him.

 

“Donut? He’s got nothing against Wash, where’d you get that?”

 

North frowned.

 

“No, the other one, the blond with scars on his arms. He made a pretty disparaging comment about the performer.”

 

Tucker blinked, cocked his head to the side for a moment, and laughed. He shook his head and motioned for North to continue.

 

“What did he say?”

 

Pissed at the new server for not taking the situation more seriously, South crossed her arms and served Tucker a scathing glare. This look could normally make men feel as if their testicles should hide inside their bodies for protection, but Tucker was an expert at ignoring death glares. His testicles only shriveled halfway into him.

 

“The performer isn’t good enough to be playing in front of people.”

 

Tucker snickered and covered his mouth with his hand. He shook his head and swatted at the air.

 

“He’s just nervous. Poor guy likes things to go smoothly, and this is causing all kinds of upset to the perfectly planned out schedule of events in his life. Don’t be too mad at him, we’re still trying to get him to pull the stick out of his ass. It takes time.”

 

Donut settled Junior, Tucker’s five year old son, in the chair near where the microphone was set up. He made a funnel with his hands and hollered into them.

 

“Ok, we’re ready!”

 

Washington came out of the back, an acoustic guitar in his hand, and a nervous expression painted onto his face. Tucker laughed as the man ruffled Junior’s hair and spoke into the microphone.

 

“Hello everyone, welcome to Valhalla’s first live music night. I’m going to play a variety of things, if you don’t like something or you do, there are comment cards available on all of the tables.”

  
With that, Washington began to play ‘Smoke on the Water’. Two of the college boys began to headbang, despite the lack of electric to the guitar.

 

Four pairs of eyes turned onto Tucker and narrowed as the man suppressed his laughter. South quietly scoffed.

 

“He’s nervous about himself? I thought he was just being an asshole.”

 

Tucker nodded and gave a thumbs up to Church, who stood at the other end of the room with Caboose and Donut. The two bounced up and down together with giddy expressions on their faces.

 

“Hell yeah, Wash hates being in front of people. The comment card thing is so he doesn’t have to 'hear the rejection first hand’. His words. Also, he’s totally an asshole. You can’t work here and not be, right Carolina?”

 

As Tucker wandered off to take care of other tables, a soft expression crossed Maine’s face. The waiter did seem to commit fully to the music, but he took care to watch out for the little boy who bounced in his seat and grinned.

 

Washington played and sang for two full hours, with breaks only long enough for a sip of water every now and again. The first time Wash asked Junior to help him with the words, Maine didn’t know what to expect. The child made strange noises that sounded like ‘honk’ and ‘blargh’, but what caught Maine’s attention was that the child clumsily signed out the song as he made noises while Washington sang. The man had Junior ‘help’ him in at least a third of the songs, and the boy’s excitement only increased each time he was asked.

 

It wasn’t perfect, but his earnest attention to details made Maine’s night. Maine’s eyes were intense as he watched those numbers in particular. The rest of the table noticed Maine’s expression and traded not so subtle smiles.

 

Finally, as Washington wound down for the night, he quietly mumbled that the next number was a work in progress from the previous week, and glued his eyes firmly to the floor. The audience watched Junior’s expression intensify as Wash strummed the guitar very carefully, his pace a little slower than the other music he’d played. It was clear that the man had less practice with this than anything else he’d played that night, but there was an earnestness, and honesty that had appeared.

_“I love the way you love someone else,_

_I’d like to get some of that for myself._

_I wanna wake up next to you.”_

 

Maine’s eyes tracked the motions of Washington’s mouth, the gentle, self-deprecating smile on his face. The whole restaurant watched Washington bare his soul, watched him become completely vulnerable for the first time in the whole night. The words were sung with reverence, each carefully selected.

_“The way you hold her with tenderness._

_She kicks back her heels_

_In that beautiful dress._

_I wanna wake up next to you.”_

 

And for a few brief moments, while Washington’s eyes were focused away, Maine gazed into the other man’s soul. He saw something exposed, like a hermit crab without its shell, and realized that Wash hated being in front of them. It didn’t matter that he’d practiced for weeks, that he’d done a fantastic job, and the crowd loved it. He didn’t feel confident, he felt scared and embarrassed. What was likely designed as an act of kindness and support had become almost an act of cruelty.

_Dudes, Maine is the kind of guy who gets being self-conscious. Those scars? They ain’t_ _exactly something people look at and think ‘wow, he must be a great guy!’. More like_ _‘dudes, hide your kids, hide your wife!’. So when he saw how just how self-conscious_ _Wash was, he knew he had to do something._

_“It’s in your eyes_

_and they tell the truth,_

_You’ve got it all_

_and it’s bulletproof._

_I wanna wake up next to you.”_

 

As soon as the song ended, Maine turned his head to the table, and ripped a piece of paper out of his notepad. The restaurant burst into applause, but when Washington looked up, Maine was completely absorbed in his task. Wash tried not to be hurt that the man ignored him, it’s not as if he knew that Wash’s song was about him, or that he should care even if he knew.

 

He gave a weak smile as several people approached to praise his performance. Junior leapt from his seat and Wash scooped the boy into a tight hug. The child was a perfect excuse to make his way quickly to the back room. The lights came up fully, and the wait staff began run around to help people settle up their bills. North and South both smiled at Maine, who finished up his project.

 

“He’s cute.”

 

Maine flipped South off and growled menacingly. She laughed and waved at Sister, who thrust out her chest and placed a hand on her hip. It was clear the yellow clad woman had her eye on something. Sister raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, are you coming or not?”

 

South grinned and tossed several bills onto the table.

 

“Not yet, but hopefully soon!”

 

“South!”

 

North glared at his sister.

 

“You can find your own way home, right?”

 

With that, South jumped from the booth and followed after Sister. North groaned as Carolina and Maine laughed. They squared away the bill and Maine handed Donut the project with a grunt. North leaned in, a grin on his face.

 

“That’s for the singer, Wash. Make sure he gets it, ok?”

 

Maine growled, but Donut just grinned, and cradled the piece gently in his hands. Maine was surprised by the amount of care the young man in the pink polo showed.

 

“I know exactly what you mean, Big Guy, I’ll make sure to slip it to Wash before he heads home tonight!”

 

With that, the pink clad server flounced to the back. The three soldiers looked at each other in bemusement, shrugged in unison, and slipped out of the diner to their cars.

 

Donut knocked on the door to the back room, a wide grin on his face. Wash sat with Junior on his lap, the child in a light doze, while Church finished out paperwork with a barely concealed smile on his face. It was clear that the man wanted to gloat about the success of the night, the tip jar at the front had filled quickly even after Wash ran off, and Church was ridiculously pleased.

 

With a flourish, Donut presented Washington with an origami cat. Wash looked at it in confusion.

 

“Um…what is that?”

 

“This was left behind for you by the gentleman soldier from last week, you know, the one who was really tall and didn’t talk and had that weird tattoo and all that awful scarring? I think he liked the show.”

 

Donut’s eyebrows wiggled inappropriately as Wash delicately plucked the paper creature from his hand. It was made out of notebook paper, and not a particularly fancy piece, but it was adorable. There was nothing particularly special about it, but something tight in Wash’s chest loosened slightly.

 

Then it coiled back up when he remembered that the man had a girlfriend.

 

“I’m sure that this was left behind by mistake. Most women don’t like their partners leaving behind gifts for the wait staff.”

 

Church looked up from his notes.

 

“You’re joking right? The chick he was with? That’s Carolina, my sister, and she’s definitely not dating him. Her boyfriend is a fucking ridiculous weirdo with a lock fetish. The other chick is South, and she's gay. That guy’s totally not her type.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah, Carolina’s been hanging out with him more since he got hurt, but they’re totally not together. They’re just friends. Seriously, if you want that, hit it.”

 

With that, Church grabbed his bag and pulled Junior out of Wash’s arms.

 

“I’m taking the guys home. Do you want a ride?”

 

Wash shook his head.

 

“No thanks, I’ll make it on my own.”

 

“Leave the guitar. No sense in you getting mugged after your first big show.”

 

Donut waved.

 

“Don’t forget to take that sweet pussy home with you!”

 

Wash choked and looked at the pink clad man.

 

“Wait, WHAT?”

** NOVEMBER 22ND \- SECOND TUESDAY **

 

Maine sat in the audience with Carolina and made it a point to not stare at Wash as he performed. His focus was directed entirely on his plate, with only a few soulful glances up and he missed the glances that Washington shot back at him.

_“You have never been in love,_

_Have never been in love,_

_With anyone but you.”_

 

Carolina watched as the two look at each other, neither one noticed the other’s glances. Maine nervously made paper cranes throughout the whole show, and when it was time to leave, left the best one on the table. The rest were hastily shoved into his pocket.

 

When Tucker brought the crane to Wash, he looked at it with no small amount of confusion.

 

“Um…what is this for?”

 

Wash took the crane and smiled. He looked at Tucker, with the gentle flutter of hope in his chest.

 

“Cranes are good luck. Did he say anything?”

 

Tucker shook his head.

 

“Nah, he doesn’t talk to anyone but Carolina and his friends. He left that on the table, I just assumed it was for you.”

 

Wash’s face didn’t fall. He’d had too much practice for such an amateur move. He looked down at the crane and tucked it into his pocket, and Tucker realized that he’d fucked up. Wash didn’t make those happy faces often or easily, and there was a very real possibility that he wouldn’t for the rest of the week after that.

 

“Oh, right. Sure.”

 

With eyes downcast, Wash rushed out of the office. Tucker caught Junior’s eye. The little boy looked unhappy, and Tucker couldn’t blame him.

 

“Well, shit. I think I fucked up, little man.”

 

“Honk!”

** DECEMBER 13TH – FIRST TUESDAY **

 

Wash decided it was probably unhealthy to fantasize about one of his customers. He could only imagine what his therapist would say, if he had one, and decided that he needed to distance himself from the situation. He needed to have someone else take on Maine’s table. Sister had the night off, but Simmons had gotten into a fight with Grif earlier in the evening, so he was on the floor. Normally the man’s anxiety made it difficult for him to work with people he was not used to, but after the two men managed to get food all over the kitchen walls and ceiling, Wash was not nearly as sympathetic as he normally was.

 

When Maine came in, he brought North and South, but not Carolina this time. Wash couldn’t help but be relieved. North was easygoing and seemed to be kind, according to Church, the man could be aggressive but preferred an easygoing method. Maine was a regular by this point. His appearances were not quite nightly, but every two to three days he would make himself known and converse. Wash discovered that the man did not speak at all, he used a notepad that he carried with him and gestured to get his point across. Despite that, he was one of the easiest conversationalists Wash had served since he started at Valhalla. Simmons likely wouldn’t piss South off, she had a fiery temper, but preferred to pick on her brother or other seatmates rather than the staff.

 

He felt that Simmons was in good hands and left him to it while he picked up the slack in the other areas.

 

It was almost time to get Junior and make sure he was ready to perform when Simmons grabbed his arm, his face red and incredibly upset. The red head clutched Wash’s arm and had begun to hyperventilate as he spoke.

 

“I fucked up. Oh man, I fucked up. I’m so sorry!”

 

Wash grabbed his shoulders and pulled him behind the bar where there would be a little bit more privacy. He would have liked to take it to the office or the kitchen, but there was no one else on the dining floor at the moment.

 

“Breathe, Simmons. What happened?”

 

Simmons gasped quietly and hissed.

 

“I did the thing. The ‘foot into mouth say the worst thing ever’ thing! God, they want to talk to you!”

 

Wash looked up and realized that, of course, the table Simmons had managed to piss off was the trio of soldiers. The twins looked equal measures of cold fury, but Maine’s face was completely blank.

 

“What did you say?”

 

Simmons stuttered and gasped.

 

“I- I said h-hi-his-sc-c-c-cars m-m-m-mus.”

 

Wash didn’t need to know the rest. He shook his head and motioned to the back room.

 

“Ok, here’s the deal. You go into the office and sit down for a while, I’m going to try and smooth this over. You’re on Caboose duty tonight. See if you can get Church to come out and help cover tables.”

 

“A-a-am-m-m I f-f-f-f-f-“

 

Wash shook his head.

 

“You’re not fired. I’m probably going to schedule you for kitchen duty for a while, but you’re not fired.”

 

Simmons actually sobbed and clutched at Wash’s shirt. Tucker came out of the kitchen with a tray, and stopped to check in. Wash shook his head and motioned him on.

 

“I’m su-uch a f-f-f-f-“

 

Wash moved in front of Simmons so that no one could get a good look at his face and pulled him to the office.

 

“Come on. None of that. Into the office.”

 

When he finally got Simmons inside, Caboose leapt up from his chair and pulled him into a hug. Church looked up, eyes wide. They didn’t need to say a word for the man to reach for his uniform polo tucked into the desk.

 

“Oh no! Simmons! You are leaking water from your face!”

 

With that, Wash shut the door and headed back into the dining area. Most of the people looked concerned, the morning regulars were intimately familiar of Simmons anxiety. Wash stood in front of Maine’s table with his blandest ‘I’m going to fix it’ face.

 

South’s expression only looked more furious, and Wash still couldn’t read Maine, but North looked more concerned than angry.

 

“My employee says that he made some inappropriate comments while he was serving your table. Your meals are on us tonight, with our sincerest apologies.”

 

South snarled and stood up.

 

“Do you always reprimand your employees where everyone can see you?”

 

Wash’s blank face broke as he looked at South. He tried to school his expression back into place, but it was too late. Confusion won out.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

 

“You made him cry? That one?”

 

North placed a hand on his sister’s arm and guided her back into her seat.

 

“Is he ok? I realize he made a mistake, but you didn’t fire him or anything like that, did you?”

 

Wash was ashamed to note how long it took for the metaphorical light to go on.

 

“No. He’s got pretty severe anxiety, and he doesn’t normally get pulled onto the floor. I shouldn’t have had him out here tonight, but we’re shorthanded.”

 

North frowned.

 

“That seemed like more than just anxiety.”

 

“If we were just talking mild anxiety sure, but that wasn’t mild. That was a full blown panic attack. I can’t say anything more than that, except that he is very sorry.”

 

Maine tapped on the table and held up his notepad.

 

‘Is he going to be ok?’

 

Wash nodded.

 

“He’ll be ok in a while. I really am sorry. We’ve collected a group of employees here that doesn’t really understand how to think before they speak or operate a filter. He wasn’t trying to be cruel.”

 

The three blinked. North tilted his head slightly to the side and moved his arm. His posture was deliberately non-aggressive, and his face was schooled into politeness.

 

“We actually asked you over to let you know what happened, before he got himself into trouble. The conversation makes a lot more sense in context. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from talking about…”

 

Wash nodded.

 

“He got caught in a loop, almost? Like, he’d catch himself and then say something even worse?”

 

South snorted.

 

“That’s a good way to put it. Then he said ‘Oh shit, I’m gonna get fired’.”

 

“We thought you were giving him a reprimand right then and there.”

 

Wash’s shoulders loosened slightly.

 

“He didn’t completely offend you, did he?”

 

Maine snorted and tapped the table again.

 

‘Military. Takes more than a few cheap shots about my looks to offend me.’

 

Wash knew that Simmons, whatever he said, had not intended to take any shots, cheap or otherwise. The man had a prosthetic leg and arm, many of his internal organs were not his own, and more facial scarring than Maine did. Simmons also had the uncanny ability to say the absolute worst thing at the worst time to the worst person. He was like Wash in that way.

 

Wash sighed. Tucker crept up close and tapped the back of his wrist.

 

“God, I am so sorry about that. Simmons means well, but I swear he doesn’t actually think about the words he speaks. As I said, dinner is on us tonight, with my apologies.”

 

Tucker looked between the table and Wash, and followed the man.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Grab Junior’s chair and let’s get started.”

 

Wash went into the office, where Simmons was curled up on the floor with a throw around his shoulders. Caboose sat next to him and babbled softly about how one time he fixed a tank. Junior was tucked into Simmons other side, with an intense expression on his face. Wash motioned to the little boy, who scurried to his feet and held Wash’s hand the whole way to the ‘stage’. Junior was less enthusiastic than the first time they’d performed, though Wash thought it had more to do with Simmons than the actual performance.

 

Nerves took over, Wash’s confidence was shaken, and he spent the majority of the night with his face to the floor to avoid looking at the table of soldiers. He would never send Simmons to them again, he’d probably have to keep the poor man in the kitchen for a month just to rebuilt his confidence. He couldn’t count on Sister to take care of them, since she started sleeping with South, it was all she seemed to think about and Wash did not want her stripping in the dining room. Donut would just kill them with innuendos.

 

He would be stuck with his completely inappropriate crush until the man decided to stop coming back to the diner.

_“There is no one good enough,_

_No one’s good enough,_

_You take up all the room.”_

 

When the show was over, Wash helped Tucker clear the tables. The trio slipped out quietly, North gave Wash a pat on the shoulder and they were gone.

 

On the table was enough cash to cover the meal as well as a tip, and an origami llama.

 

Tucker looked at it and shook his head.

 

“Do I even want to know what that is?”

 

“Llama. Endurance in difficult situations, responsibility, and hard work.”

 

Tucker gave Wash a look.

 

“Why do you know what origami animals stand for?”

 

Wash raised an eyebrow and handed Tucker a stack of plates.

 

“Dish duty.”

 

“Oh, come on, man! I’ve gotta get my kid home!”

 

Wash just smirked. They both knew that he would kick Tucker out of the kitchen as soon as the boy was packed up for the night, but it was still fun to tease the other man.

 

He stepped into the office where Simmons had fallen asleep. Grif leaned against the wall next to him, and Sarge stood in the direct center of the office (which involved moving the desk backwards by two feet) with his arms crossed over his chest. As far as dramatic effects went, the stance didn’t do a bad job.

 

Caboose and Church were nowhere to be seen, but that was unsurprising. Church hated drama he didn’t directly cause or that wasn’t in his control, and Caboose couldn’t handle people being upset for too long.

 

“Wanna explain what happened?”

** DECEMBER 27TH \- SECOND TUESDAY **

 

All of the tables are full, and several people had lined the walls to stand and watch the show. Maine was seated by himself with a laptop at his table. He typed away without a care in the world as Wash sang.

 

The man had come in between Tuesdays while Wash was off and actually left a note of apology for Simmons. It was clear that there were no more hard feelings, and Simmons actually managed to make it through his morning shift without incidents. The note seemed to inspire a spark of confidence in the other man.

 

Idly, Wash wondered if Church talked to Carolina about the incident. It would make sense.

 

Wash and Junior made a few changes to the set list that week. Junior slowly but surely became a more active participant in the songs, partly because he’d really caught on to ASL, and partly because Junior saw how the tall man would look longer when he signed.

 

It was the only time when Wash performed that he managed to catch Maine when he watched.

_“I run my hands through my hair,_

_I do whatever I dare,_

_my heart goes boom boom.”_

 

The crowd clapped along with the song as Junior led them. Tuesday nights had become busy enough that they would have to turn people away because it got too full, something that had never happened in all of Valhalla’s history.

 

Maine smiled at Wash and paid his bill. He tipped an imaginary hat at Junior, who laughed and repeated the motion. Wash let Tucker take Junior to the back and started to clean up Maine’s table when he saw it.

 

There was a frog on the table. There were several frogs, actually, in a rainbow of colors. Maine had left him an army of brightly colored origami frogs. He had no idea what to think about it.

 

Wash frowned and picked up a teal construction. It looked like the hopping frogs he’d made when he was in elementary school, as opposed to a traditional origami frog, only this one looked like it could actually hop around. Wash gathered the frogs into his hands, turned to his nearest coworker (today it was Donut), and held out the pile of hopping frogs.

 

“What does this mean?”

 

“Aren’t you the one who knows about origami meanings?”

 

Wash sighed.

 

“I know what frogs mean, I don’t know what this means.”

 

Donut squealed and sifted through the frogs, delight on his face.

 

“Oh, look at how cute they are!”

 

Wash frowned and looked down into the pile. Donut found a pink frog and held it in his hands.

 

“Yes, they’re cute, but what is he trying to tell me? Frogs are for safe travels, but I’m not going anywhere. Is my voice…croaky or something?”

 

Donut looked at Washington as if he were particularly obtuse that day and not just his regular oblivious self. Caboose wandered up behind him and looked at the frogs. Donut showed him the pink one, and Caboose laughed.

 

“Maybe he just likes frogs? Maybe it was the easiest thing to make a lot of? I mean, I remember someone doing these when I was in school. The teacher shut it down really quickly because we got them all over each other and made a mess of the whole room. They were super distracting.”

 

Wash shrugged and scowled down at the frog army.

 

“Maybe he’s trying to tell you that he loves you.”

 

Wash looked at confusion.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Caboose nodded sagely, in the way that he did when what he said would either be completely insane or surprisingly profound.

 

“Princesses kiss frogs to find their princes, right? I think he’s trying to save you some time by showing you that we’re all frogs. Look, this one is me, and this one is Church, and that one is Tucker.”

 

Donut gasped.

_Dude, stop being so polite about it. He literally said the word ‘gasp’._

 

“Gasp! Look, I think he’s right! That’s Sarge, Simmons, Grif, Sister, Lopez, there’s even a tiny teal one! Oh I bet that’s Junior! He made us all into hopping frogs! That’s so cute! Aww, maybe Caboose is right!” Wash held out Caboose’s frog, and now that he thought about it, the color scheme matched their polo shirts exactly. It was too perfect to be anything else.

 

“Maybe they’re for all of us this time?”

 

Caboose shook his head.

 

“Nope. There’s not one of you in here, and he doesn’t do it for anyone else when he comes in. He definitely doesn’t think you’re a frog, Church.”

 

Wash tucked the frogs safely in his apron and ruffled Caboose’s hair. On bad days, days when Church didn’t come in, days when Church couldn’t stop talking about Tex, days when he spewed vitriol and violence like it was candy, Caboose would latch onto Wash. On especially bad days, Wash was the new Church, Caboose’s best friend who _didn’t_ hurt him. The whole diner knew that if Church ever found out that Caboose called Wash by his name, the man would be ridiculously offended. For someone who claimed to hate the other man, Church was extremely possessive.

 

Wash found that he didn’t care about what Church thought more often than not.

 

“Thanks, Buddy.”

 

Caboose nodded and placed a hand on Wash’s shoulder.

 

“You should tell him you love him. Then you can kiss him and live in a castle and make babies like Tucker did.”

 

“Wait, _WHAT_?!

** JANUARY 10TH – FIRST TUESDAY **

 

Despite being obtuse most of the time, Caboose’s ‘sage advice’ stuck in Wash’s head. Maine came in often, always when Wash was on shift. The man always checked in to see how things were, how the employees were in general, and chatted with Wash about mutual areas of interest.

 

Not to mention, Wash had a fast growing collection of origami sculptures from the other man.

 

The thought didn’t leave Wash’s mind and by the time the next performance date rolled around he was confident that he could make the next move. He had decided he would actually attempt to flirt with Maine after the show. If the man didn’t respond, or responded negatively, then at least he would have his answer and he could get back to the way things were.

 

That plan failed spectacularly when Maine came in with a woman Wash didn’t recognize. She was a tiny thing, positively dwarfed by the taller man, with one side of her head shaved, and a confident walk. Maine held the door for her, smiled at her, even pulled her chair out.

 

Dear god, he’d brought a date.

 

Tucker squeezed Wash’s shoulder. Maine grinned at her, his expression relaxed and easy, and took her hand.

 

A date.

 

“They’re probably just friends.”

 

Wash turned to his friend and scowled.

 

“He doesn’t pull out chairs like that for South or Carolina. He definitely doesn’t hold their hands.”

 

Tucker snorted.

 

“Can you think of any woman who’d appreciate their chair being pulled out less than those two?”

 

“Tex?”

 

Tucker nodded.

 

“Exactly. They don’t want the guy to hold their chair or pay the bill. It’s about power dynamics for chicks like that, and they always want to be on top. Bow chika wow wow.”

 

Wash slapped the back of Tucker’s head.

 

“That was weak.”

 

Tucker grumbled.

 

“Why do you always hit so hard?”

 

“I do it in the desperate hopes that one day you will actually learn from your mistakes.”

 

Tucker scowled and rubbed the back of his head.

 

“You know, hitting only encourages violent behavior down the line. Seriously, all you’re telling me is that hitting you is ok. Or to start hitting people who can’t hit back, like Simmons. Do you really want me to start hitting Simmons?”

 

Wash blinked.

 

“I…feel like I’ve missed a step.”

 

Tucker ruffled his hair.

 

“Parenting stuff. When Junior was little…my mom said something about smacking his mouth when he misbehaved. I really hated the idea, but she had custody at the time, and if I wanted to see him I couldn’t do anything to piss her off. I read up on like, hitting and spanking and all that, and it turns out that it all links back to higher rates of violence in kids. It’s why I don’t let her around him without supervision anymore.”

 

For a moment, Wash didn’t know what to say. He drew the other man into a quick hug and patted him on the shoulder.

 

“You’re a good dad, Tucker.”

 

“Hell yes, I am the best dad. Now we both have to go wash our hands.”

 

By the time Wash got back to the table to take Maine and his friend’s orders, someone had dropped off drinks. Her order was very specific, in a way that was not as endearing as Maine’s ‘extra bacon cooked soft’, and required a certain amount of extra work on Grif’s end. Wash made sure to walk the other man through the changes, just to be sure that everything was done correctly, and let Grif know that he had gotten a weird vibe from her. Grif made sure to follow Wash's instructions completely.

 

When he made it out of the kitchen the woman introduced herself as Connie, turned, and chatted with Wash about the local college students that had taken over two tables to do homework and tried to gauge his opinion on the expansion of the military base housing into town. Wash floated through the conversation, without giving an actual opinion, and ran off to take care of other tables.

 

There was something about her that wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure what. Somewhere in his head his instincts flared up, and he couldn’t make them calm down. He thought it was jealousy at first. 

 

Every time Wash checked in on Maine, the man had his head down to write in his notebook. Wash became aware very quickly that she would not wait for him to finish writing his sentence before she would begin to speak again, which caused him to have to start all over.

 

Their order was ready just as he was supposed to start performing, but Wash waited a moment to check in and make sure that everything was ok. Tucker grabbed Junior’s chair and gave Wash a ‘sitrep’ look. Actually, it was more of a ‘what in the hell are you doing?’ look, but it translated the same to Wash. He motioned back an ASL ‘b’ at his hip, and moved his hand side to side twice. It wasn’t anything real, as far as Wash knew, but he’d used the sign many times in the past when they’d had a bad or stressful customer, and it always got the message across. Church called it 'the bitch signal', but it was a pretty universal sign around the diner.

 

Maine noticed the gesture, but didn’t draw attention to it.

 

“How is everything?”

 

Connie turned with a sweet smile.

 

“It looks great, thank you.”

 

Wash smiled back and looked at Maine.

 

“How about yours?”

 

Connie waved her hand.

 

“He’s fine. It’s eggs and bacon, not anything special.”

 

Wash’s smile tightened. Maine smiled and nodded, but did not write anything down. The man looked tense.

 

Wash beelined for the back, a dark look on his face. Junior sat up in his seat, concern on his face.

 

“Sorry about the wait, Little Man.”

 

“Blargh!”

  
Junior jumped down from his chair and scolded Wash, who leaned down and hoisted Junior onto his shoulders.

 

“I know I’m late, we had a problem customer. Off we go."

  
Wash let the set ride with a kind, gentle tone to it. While he wanted to put out angry accusatory music, he didn’t have the heart to take Junior’s good time from him, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t make the situation any more comfortable for Maine.

 

Through the entire set, Connie kept her back to him and Junior. She talked all the way through, everyone in the building could hear her, and Maine had that same blank look on his face as when Simmons told him to be thankful his scarring wasn’t so bad.

 

In another setting, talking during the music wouldn’t be a problem. Hell, talking a little was still bound to happen, it was a restaurant. The customers at Valhalla came in for the show, and would often sing along, or clap, or be obnoxious. Some people came in specifically to chat and hang out while the music went on, but it was quiet and not obtrusive. This was more than that.

 

This was deliberate.

 

As he started in on his original work, he heard Connie’s voice ring clear.

 

“I don’t really get what the big deal about this place is, the food’s not great and the fact that one of the employees plays music is just annoying. Like, get a sound system, am I right? Who thinks that this kind of thing is a good time?”

 

Suddenly, Maine smacked his hand against the table hard and growled loudly. The dishware clattered, and the woman made a distressed squeak.

 

The restaurant froze as the large man angrily wrote in his notebook and slapped it in front of her. She looked at the page, and without a word, snatched up the notebook and her purse and left. Wash watched her go, his sense of unease only grew. Caboose wandered out from the office just in time to get shoulder checked by the tiny woman.

 

She hardly rocked him, but the rudeness of the action was enough to make Caboose yell after her angrily.

 

“Hey! It is not nice to hit people! Even if they are accidentally in your way!”

  
Donut ran up to him and smoothed his hands over Caboose’s shoulders as he checked him over. He herded the other man back into the office, while Caboose shouted that she needed to come back and say she was sorry.

 

Then the room was quiet. The silence became increasingly tense. Wash saw Maine shift in his seat and start to sink.

 

Tucker caught his eye and Wash briefly motioned ‘N-O-T-E’ and opened his hands like a book.

 

Wash laughed into the mic and settled his guitar back in place.

 

“Well, this is awkward. Hey Junior, wanna help me get the next one going?”

 

Junior honked loudly, jumped up in his seat, and waved his arms around excitedly.

 

Just as Wash suspected, the adorable antics of the five-year-old cut through the majority of the tension and several people laughed.

_“My heart goes_

_Boom boom_

_Bada boom boom.”_

 

As Wash sang, he saw Tucker subtly sneak Maine one of the spare notepads from around the building. Maine’s shoulders relaxed and he mouthed ‘thank you’. It was the first time Tucker or Wash had seen the man even attempt to use actual words. Tucker grinned and waved it off.

 

Church came out of the office, his arms crossed over his chest, and scowled angrily into the parking lot. He pulled out his phone multiple times and texted someone, probably Tex or Carolina, but for the most part kept his eyes on the building.

 

When the set was over, Maine immediately made his way to Wash with the notepad.

 

‘I’m sorry.’

 

Wash shook his head.

 

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.”

 

Maine scratched into the book.

 

‘I brought her.’

 

Wash shrugged.

 

“Simmons brings Grif, but when Grif screws up we don’t blame Simmons.”

 

They both heard someone mutter ‘asshole’ from the kitchen and grinned.

 

“Seriously, it’s all good. Church is, as we speak, handing out homemade coupons for a free dessert next time anyone here comes in. He’s not mad at you and the regulars aren’t bothered, they’re used to weird shit going down. I’m sorry that your friend was so awful.”

 

Maine frowned. He took a minute to write, and in the meantime, Junior pulled on Wash’s leg and demanded to be picked up.

 

‘She is an old friend, but she’s been different since she started dating men again.’

 

Wash thought about Sister for a moment and laughed. Maine frowned and made a sort of inquisitive rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

 

“Sorry, it’s just, Sister says the same sort of thing. Dating men is the worst because you have to completely train them from the ground up in the bedroom. She’s probably just stressed.”

 

Maine let out an amused rumble. He tried to hand the notepad to Wash, but the blond just shook his head.

 

“Keep it, I’ve got thirty of those things hidden around the building.”

 

Maine smiled and went back to his table. Normally the man cleared out pretty quickly, but this time he sat and actually made the origami sculpture right then and there. Wash took Junior to the back and handed him off to his dad.

 

Church grabbed Wash on the way out.

 

“That guy, is he safe to be here?”

 

Wash nodded.

 

“Yeah, that’s Maine, he’s a regular. I’ve never seen the woman before, but she’s clearly not that close of a friend. Isn’t he good friends with your sister? You told me they weren’t dating and that I should go for it with him.”

 

“Holy crap, that's Maine? Damn he looks different with all the scarring. Carolina and I don’t really run in the same circles, and I can barely remember her boyfriend’s name half the time. You can't expect me to remember every person who comes in here. Oh wait! Is he the origami guy?!”

 

“Jesus, Church! He’s been a regular for months now!”

 

“Well I don’t know! I don’t work out there! Holy crap! Shit’s gonna go down tonight, and I’m gonna have to hear all about it. Tex has already flipped on the chick, and now Carolina's pissed off. Guess who's stuck in the middle of it. Thanks asshole.”

 

Wash flipped him the bird and headed back to the dining room. Maine had left him an origami dragon this time. With a small smile, Wash looked up the meaning, and inspected it.

** JANUARY 24TH – SECOND TUESDAY **

 

Sister joined Wash for the new song, partially because he’d written a line about wearing a dress and felt more comfortable with her singing that part, and partially for the emotional support of another adult while he sang out his feelings was helpful, even if Sister was sometimes ridiculous and childish.

 

The diner was crowded as people clapped and sang along to the music. They’d played most of Wash’s songs enough times now that the regulars knew them, and when the tempo was up, the crowd would sing along.

 

Wash watched Maine as he sang, with the hope that the quiet man would look up at him as he performed, that the man would understand. Maine kept his eyes firmly on the book he’d brought with him. After the last meeting, Wash thought they’d come to an understanding, a next step or something, but the man had hardly glanced up at him the entire night.

 

He had only come in two times since the last performance, and had kept their conversations brief. Wash didn’t know what to do with the sudden rejection.

_“Breathless,_

_I’m breathless._

 

Truth be told, Washington was a little pissed about that. He didn’t have any right to be, they weren’t friends. Not even friends in the way that he was friends with his other regulars, where he knew all about their personal lives; kids, cars, partners, work, medical procedures, but wasn’t a part of them outside of Valhalla.

_Lying with my dress still on._

 

All he’d managed to share with Maine were the specials, a few very short conversations, and origami.

_Breathless,_

_I’m breathless._

Maybe it wasn’t as special as Wash thought it was. Maine could easily leave origami trinkets for everyone he met on a daily basis. The teller at his bank and the checker at his grocery store probably had quite the collection.

 

_Thinking about you_

_When you’re gone._

The thought actually made Wash feel nauseous. He barely made it to the end of the song.

 

_Thinking about you_

_When you’re gone.”_

The crowd applauded. Junior jumped up and hugged Washington’s leg, and the other employees cheered. Maine idly clapped his hands, but didn’t look up from the book. Washington picked up the little boy and carried him back to the office, desperate to avoid questions. He waved at the people as he left, and tried to keep the disappointment off of his face.

 

_You see, dudes and dudettes, it’s not just about the singing. With Wash wants to sing the right song to the right person, and have that person see him. He didn’t get a whole lot of positive emotional reinforcement as a kid, which makes him perfect for the group of friends he’s got. Daddy issues and emotional instability are totally cool in Valhalla._

_And see, when the person you’re looking at won’t look at you the same way, well that’s just a recipe for heartbreak, dudes._

As soon as Junior was settled, Wash ducked into the bathroom and hid himself in a stall. He wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or not, and didn’t want to risk it. Instead he felt his eyes mist over with tears.

 

It was ridiculous, and he knew it. He’d somehow set his hopes on someone who didn’t care about him, who didn’t have any more interest in him than to make sure Wash didn’t spit in his food.

 

He hadn’t done this kind of thing to himself in years. The closest he came was his codependent relationship with Tucker, and that only worked out well because the man was so confident in his own sexuality that he didn’t feel threatened by a gay man being close to him.

 

Wash had no idea how long he sat in the stall before there was a knock.

 

“Son, you in there?”

 

“Yeah, Sarge, I’m here.”

 

His voice sounded wrecked, like he’d swallowed sand. When had that happened?

 

“You sick?”

 

“I don’t think so. Felt like I was going to throw up for a while, but nothing came of it.”

 

“Mind unlockin’ the door, then?”

 

Wash flicked the lock, pressed his eyes against the palms of his hands, and put his elbows on his knees. Sarge propped open the door and gave Washington a firm once over.

 

“Boy, you look like you went one on one with a jeep again. You been havin’ panic attacks a lot recently?”

 

Wash shook his head. He didn’t know how to explain to the gruff man what he felt, or why he felt it, or what he would do about it. Sarge put a hand on Wash’s shoulder.

 

“Ok, then. Want to give me a hint why you’re hidin’ in the bathroom instead of wanderin’ around shakin’ hands and gettin’ people to put money in the tip jar?”

 

Wash moved to get up, his eyes never left the floor, only to have Sarge hold him down in the stall. If this hadn’t happened before, it might have been a much more uncomfortable experience.

 

“Ah didn’t say you need to get up, Son. Whether or not you bum for tips is up to you.”

 

“I’m stupid, Sarge, that’s all.”

 

Sarge just stood in the way and waited. They both knew that Wash’s mouth couldn’t handle an awkward silence, and he would spill soon enough.

 

“I’m just…tired of being alone, I guess. I had ideas about romance, no idea where they came from. It was stupid. I’m stupid.”

 

“Ya ain’t stupid, Wash. Yer young, and you had ta grow up too fast. This is all the emotional high school bullshit you skipped over. It’s tough now, but it ain’t gonna last forever.”

 

Wash nodded.

 

“Ah know you don’t believe me, and that’s ok. Tell you what, why don’t you go sit in the office for a while? Ah think you’ve earned yourself a piece of pie tonight, and Caboose put together a good one. It’s _lemon_ flavored.”

 

Wash blinked and looked up.

 

“Why lemon?”

 

“To match your sourpuss face! Come on, up you go, Blue. Cain’t lock up until we clear this place out! You cain’t hide in the bathroom forever.”

 

Sarge hustled Wash into the office. Junior and Tucker were gone for the night, and Church hadn’t been there in the first place, so the room was quiet and empty. Wash laid his head down on the desk and thought about how stupid he was. How stupid he had to be to think that a man like Maine, who had been hurt, been to hell and back, and still managed to have friends and a fulfilling job and a social life, would even look twice at someone like Wash.

 

Wash, who was so fucking broken that he couldn’t form healthy relationships.

 

Who was so broken that he fell for a man just because he smiled.

 

Who literally thought the man had feelings for him because of a bunch of fucking origami frogs.

 

By the time Sarge came back to the office, pie in hand, Wash had torn ruthlessly into himself. He didn’t realize that he’d started to mutter quietly. Sarge set the pie down on the desktop and tugged Wash’s head up so they could look at each other.

 

“Son, don’t you crawl into yer own head now, you hear me? Took us an age to set you to rights last time.”

 

‘Last time’ was an experience Wash could barely bring himself to remember without the desire to put a gun in his mouth. Last time he’d been so far in his head he’d…

 

“I can’t. Sarge, I can’t…”

 

The older man pulled Wash into a hug, despite Wash’s stiffness and awkward arm placement, and held him there. Sarge’s red shirt smelled like french fries and bacon, and being forced into a hug by the man who threatened his coworkers with a shotgun to the face on an almost hourly basis and also smelled like home, was enough to send Wash over the edge.

 

He didn’t realize he’d started to cry until Sarge rubbed his back and shushed him. Wash wanted to pull away and shut the tears down, but the moment he tried, Sarge pulled him in harder, and Wash’s arms latched onto the man of their own volition.

 

They sat like that for what felt like an age. Sarge’s patience seemed to be infinite, and Wash’s emotional explosion didn’t stand a chance.

 

The tears finally slowed to a trickle. Sarge talked softly through the whole outburst, nonsense that Wash didn’t have to respond to, and rubbed Wash’s back. He felt small and ridiculous, but also extremely grateful to the man who had no reason to be kind but was anyway.

 

Wash finally managed to pull away and wipe his eyes. He almost hunched in on himself, when Sarge shoved a plateful of pie into his hands. It was chocolate with shredded coconut sprinkled on top.

 

His voice croaked, but he managed to get out,

 

“What happened to the lemon?”

 

Sarge scoffed and bit off a piece of his own slice of pale yellow pie with lemon zest on top, that Wash had somehow missed the man carrying (good god he was out of it), and made a face.

 

“You wouldn’t appreciate a good lemon pie. You and Grif both like your desserts covered in chocolate, little heathens.”

 

Wash chuckled and bit off a piece of his own pie. It was good, obviously a Caboose pie and not a Grif pie. Grif, lord love him, would eat some of the sweeter ingredients rather than put them into the pie, then he would complain that it didn’t taste right.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Sarge shrugged.

 

“Yer all my boys, well except fer Sister, but you know what I mean. Believe it or not, I do actually care.”

 

“Yeah, Sarge, I know.”

 

Donut knocked on the door and snuck inside.

 

“Oh hey, guys! Wash, you ran off before Maine could see you! He left you a fish!”

 

With a cheeky grin, Donut held out an origami fish. It was the first origami piece that was actually made of origami paper. Wash took the fish delicately.

 

“So, Wash, what do fish mean?”

 

“Happiness. Freedom. Strength. Determination.”

 

Sarge grunted.

 

“Sounds like he thinks pretty well of you.”

 

Wash looked at the fish with a blank expression. His voice hardened.

 

“I don’t understand anything. I feel so fucking stupid.”

 

Donut knelt down next to Wash, his face serious, and placed his hand on Wash’s knee. Donut was awkward. He didn’t know where boundaries were most days, but he was so caring that Wash could hardly handle it.

 

“What happened?”

 

Sarge shook his head and nudged Donut with his foot.

 

“It’s not important right now.”

 

“I may have had a panic attack, induced by my own flavor of paranoia. Also, I may be an idiot.”

 

Donut’s face froze. Wash looked to the ground as guilt clogged up his throat. He didn’t always know how to interact with the young man who claimed to hate the ‘lightish-red’ polo shirts he wore and compared blowjob tips with Sister when he thought no one was around to pay attention.

 

“Oh Wash!”

 

Washington squawked loudly as Donut threw himself into his arms and wrapped his arms around Wash’s neck. Donut rocked them both side to side vigorously in the chair and squealed giddily.

 

“I’m so happy that you’re talking about your problems instead of bottling them up! Oh, Doc is going to be so glad!”

 

“Please don’t talk to Doc about my emotional stability.”

 

Donut poked Wash in the nose.

 

“Silly, I talk to Doc about everything. He’s rooting for you and ‘Mr. Tall, Foldy, and Handsome’.”

 

Wash looked to Sarge with wide eyed terror on his face as Donut continued to rock them both side to side in the squeaky office chair. The older man just laughed at them. Wash had no idea what happened to his pie.

 

“So, tell me about this guy of yours. The one who makes you origami fish that make you all gooey eyed and squishy.”

****

** FEBRUARY 2ND – FIRST THURSDAY **

Washington spent the morning and part of the afternoon with the college students. He wasn’t technically on shift at the moment, he was at lunch, so he tried not to feel guilty when Maine came in and he didn’t greet the man personally. Sister had decided early on that she was not interested in Maine, who only frowned at her when she flirted with him, so Donut took him on that morning.

 

The breakdown with Sarge and conversation about Maine, all with the excitable Donut firmly seated in his lap, was surprisingly exactly what he’d needed to set his head to rights. The pink clad waiter thought the whole experience was wonderful and romantic, he gushed about fond smiles across the room and extended eye contact and non-verbal flirting, until Wash mentioned how he couldn’t get a read on the other man. Maine regularly ignored Wash’s presence, but also left behind origami sculptures for him. Sometimes the man would chat (amicably write notes) and flirt and smile, sometimes he would sit stone cold in the dining room and refuse to engage.

 

Wash was aware that the man probably had good reason for the way he acted, and said as much, but his own emotional obstructions made the recognition all the harder. Maine’s presence used to be a source of happiness, but it had slowly shifted into something that could just as easily cause him distress, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

 

Even with the little amount of input from Sarge that didn’t amount to ‘take him out back and beat him up until he confesses his undying love for you’, Wash felt better about the situation than he’d had since his horrible crush on the other man had first manifested itself. Sarge’s boisterous and frankly ridiculous suggestions for courting the man and Donut’s quiet reassurances that Wash hadn’t done anything wrong enough to warrant the complete shutdown, got Wash into the right frame of mind to make it through the evening.

 

Once Maine was settled and had his coffee, Wash turned back to the Chorus Community College students and continued to listen to Jensen explain the proper vehicle maintenance and care of the military vehicles she was learning to work on as part of her internship.

 

Bitters quietly explained math to Palomo and Matthews, sarcasm dripped from every word the young man spoke, but he did teach them diligently. Andersmith had his laptop and had spent the past two hours in a coffee fueled tirade as he attempted to finish a ten-page paper due that evening. Volleyball had training or she would have been there with him, since they had the same writing course.

 

The students were regulars, more than regular, they practically lived in the diner. The ‘Newbs’, as Tucker and Grif referred them to, had started coming to the diner within days of the start of their college careers. It wasn’t uncommon to see college students, the diner had wifi and cheap food, but it was unusual to see them so often. The six students had a favored table in the center of the room, where an old plug had been placed into the ground for some ungodly reason, and they would commandeer it whenever they had the opportunity.

 

They each gravitated toward different people, but when it came to the desire for actual information or school related help, they all seemed to flock to Wash’s side like bitchy and emotionally stunted ducklings.

 

It was different, leadership of a diner was different than being a tutor (dear god, maybe he should go back to school, he had enough practice with the six of them) but sometimes a person needed a change.

 

_Not that he really wanted a change, you know? As far as Wash was concerned, change threw things out of order, made life uncomfortable, and made a person vulnerable, know what I’m saying?_

_But change is also vital to life, dudes. It’s necessary if we want to move forward as a species. Everything changes, and yeah, change may be scary, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad._

 

Wash focused in on Jensen’s internship and offered her some advice on how to work with people in the military, since she was technically interning under a civilian contractor. He felt confident enough on the topic, despite his own discharge. The afternoon didn’t seem all that strange.

 

Then, someone new came into the diner.

 

New people weren’t unusual, but this man was a sight. He had short brown hair, fresh scaring over one eye, and wore military fatigues. The fatigues were common enough, but combined with the swagger in his step, the cocky grin on his face, and the fact that he came in alone, Wash knew he could only be there for one person. The man scanned the dining area briefly before he spotted Maine, and made his way over to the tall man. Wash watched in shock as Maine scrambled to his feet and they hugged each other.

 

He’d never seen Maine give anyone such an enthusiastic greeting before. It could be that he hugged like that before he got into the building, since the people he ate with came in with him, but something about the hug made a stone settle in Wash’s stomach.

 

“Man, it is so good to see you! You’re a sight for sore eyes, well, eye!!”

 

Maine shook his head with a grin and they sat down. Wash almost turned away completely, when he happened to notice Maine doing something he’d never seen the man do before. Maine made some motions with his hands, they moved back and forth, pointed at the stranger, one came up his chest, with the middle finger almost touching him, and he brought his hand to his chin then lifted it to make a ‘thumbs up’. All the while, he made soft growling grumbling noises that Washington had never heard the man make before. The man laughed and started to sign back as he spoke.

 

Maine spoke sign language.

 

He’d not even attempted to do so with any of his other companions, which likely meant that they didn’t know how or he was self-conscious about it, but with this other soldier he was vibrant and alive.

 

In that moment, Washington’s view shifted.

 

He’d been attracted to Maine because he was considerate and kind. Yes, the man was handsome and polite (even if he never said a word), and he would leave an origami sculpture every visit, and managed to make Wash feel special. He also went out of his way to make Simmons feel better after he’d been stupid. He checked in on Caboose after his meltdown with Connie. He seemed to genuinely care.

 

He knew the other man was a soldier, and that he felt self-conscious about his looks, but he always had a smile for Wash. When Junior ‘helped’ Wash with the words, the man always applauded. He recommended books, via notes, to the college students. He even debated Grifball teams via notepad with Tucker.

 

Maine was a good man.

 

The kind of man who needed someone who made him smile like his friend did. The kind of man that he could see, who didn’t blend into the background of his life.

 

Wash didn’t even consider that the man didn’t see how he felt. How could Maine not, when Washington knew he was an easy read. He’d been told once that he would be obvious in full body armor with a helmet, but Maine never noticed.

 

For a moment, Washington wondered if he should try to take a step back again. The man probably didn’t want the extra attention he’d gotten so far, didn’t want someone as messed up as Wash in his life more than necessary.

 

Time was up.

 

Wash said goodbye to the college students, got up from the table, scrubbed his hands, and got back to work.

_And dudes, he’d do it too. Wash is more oblivious than Maine. Seriously, a guy shows up to every show, leaves you freaking origami shaped like cute animals, only comes in to stay when you’re working, and you think he’s just being nice?_

_Luckily for Wash, Vic is here to make sure things stay on track!_

 

A man in a tattered yellow jacket with dirty brown hair came into the diner. It was clear that the man had seen better days. As soon as Tucker caught sight of the man, he made a beeline and tried to pull him out.

 

“Uh, uh, no way Vic.”

_That’s right, I’m in here now!_

 

“You know you aren’t allowed in here after the shit you pulled trying to get Sarge riled up.”

 

“Oh, come on dude, the man is just so pokable! All that Red and Blue rivalry was just so funny!”

 

Tucker scowled and made to pull harder when Wash put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“It’s ok, Tucker. He’s not going to hurt anything. Let him sit down.”

 

Tucker looked at Vic and at his grip on the man’s arm and let go. Wash motioned Vic over to the bar and set him up with a cup of coffee.

 

“Anything you want on the menu, my treat.”

 

Tucker had forgotten how much of a soft touch Wash was when it came to the homeless. Before Valhalla, Wash himself had drifted around on the streets for a while.

 

Wash didn’t notice the eyes on him from around the restaurant, and he certainly didn’t notice the stranger with Maine as he commented quietly. He definitely didn’t notice the soft look Maine sent his way as he brought out a cheeseburger for the man in the dirty jacket.

 

What Maine didn’t notice, was that every time his eyes were away from Wash, the man would look at him with a wistful expression as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t worth it. As Wash circulated through the room to refill drinks, drop off checks, and chat with his regulars, he would always take a moment to turn and check on his favorite customer.

 

The friend noticed. The college students noticed. The employees noticed. The homeless man noticed too.

_Ok, seriously, you know who I am. Try using my name. I’m not ‘the homeless man’ and if you call me that again, I’m walking. It’s dismissive and a sign of poor storytelling when everyone already knows who the character is._

 

Maine left the table to square away the bill. Simmons smiled nervously at the man as he ran his card. Maine’s friend approached Wash with a cocky grin, much to Maine’s wide eyed horror.

 

“Hey, I’m York.”

 

Wash froze for a moment before he squared his professional smile into place.

 

“It’s nice to meet you. Was everything ok?”

 

York nodded.

 

“Oh yeah, everything was great.”

  
Maine looked as if he would leave the checkout station just to stop York from talking to Wash. The man leaned into Wash’s space, face turned away from Maine.

  
“Just so you know, if you’re interested, you should go for it. He’s downright smitten.”

 

With that, York stuffed his hands into his pockets and whistled as he walked over to his friend, who glared him down. As they left the diner together, Maine’s hands flew too fast for Wash to truly understand what was being said. He did work with Junior some to learn songs, but conversational ASL was still not an area he considered himself skilled in.

 

Wash picked up the table, curious about what would be left behind this time, but he couldn’t find the origami sculpture.

 

Simmons rushed up to Wash, eyes wide, and he thrust his hand out. His voice gave a little squeak.

 

“He left this for you!”

 

Wash took the sculpture. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. In his hand was a beautiful multilayered heart with different patterns of origami paper. Wash didn’t have to look up what that meant. Hearts had some pretty obvious symbolism after all.

 

Maybe all hope wasn’t lost, just yet.

** LATER **

 

The dinner rush came in, and Wash ended up swamped. He didn’t know when Vic snuck out the door, but he did see that in the place Vic had occupied, he’d left something behind. Underneath his dishes was a book _, A Basic Course in American Sign Language_ , with a tiny strip of paper stuck out. The paper was a fortune from a fortune cookie.

 

‘Nothing is impossible to a willing heart.’

  
On the back of the fortune was an untidy scrawl.

 

‘When you’re looking away, he looks at you. Go get ‘em, Tiger.’

_There are moments in life when we all need a little help. Sometimes we need a push in the right direction, sometimes we just need someone to tell us what we already know, sometimes we need an idea._

_And sometimes we just need a swift kick in the pants._

 

That night, Wash offered to close up and clean. Once everyone was out of the building and he’d finished the basic cleaning that Lopez wouldn’t do himself anyway when he came in for the morning shift, Wash sat down with the book.

 

When he woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of cooked bacon and coffee in the pot. At some point in the night, Wash fell asleep in the booth with the book next to him. He stretched and sat up, just in time to see Lopez pour him the first cup of coffee of the day and sat it next to a plate of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns. The man motioned to the book.

 

“Eres un idiota. El hombre obviamente quiere tener sexo salvaje y loco contigo. Dile que lo amas y huye para tener muchos bebés gay juntos. No podemos tomar mucho más de la tensión sexual aquí.”

 

Wash smiled vacantly at the other man. He was sure that he recognized several of the words, but still had less of an understanding of Spanish than Donut. It was a good thing that the man understood English, though it did make Wash wonder why the man didn’t attempt to speak it.

 

“Thanks for this Lopez. I didn’t realize how late I was here.”

 

“Además, ¿por qué estás dispuesto a aprender el lenguaje de señas, pero no puedes molestarte en aprender una sola palabra de español? Pendejo.”

 

Wash did recognize the last work, and winced.

 

“Was that because of the ASL book?”

 

“Si.”

 

Wash looked down at the book.

 

“I’m an asshole, aren’t I?”

 

“Sí, pero para ser justos, son todos pendejos.”

 

Lopez patted Wash’s shoulder and went back into the kitchen.

 

With a shrug, Wash stretched and ate. He made sure to clear his own plates and wipe down the table. Wash grabbed his book and the heart, and waved to Lopez as he headed out.

 

As he walked toward his apartment, Wash grabbed his phone and dialed Tucker’s number. The other man muttered sleepily into the phone.

 

“Yo, Wash, what’s up?”

 

“Hey, do you mind putting Junior on for a minute?”

 

Tucker hollered out for Junior, and Wash heard the sound of thunderous stomps as the boy ran to grab the phone from his father’s hands. Junior honked twice.

 

“Hey Buddy, do you think you could help me with something? I have an idea that I want to run by everyone.”

** FEBRUARY 14TH – FIRST TUESDAY **

 

Maine hadn’t anticipated that the diner would be busy on Valentine’s day, especially not in the evening. He assumed most couples wanted a romantic date at a nice restaurant, or a movie, or sexcapades around their house. While Valhalla wasn’t a complete dive, it wasn’t the first thing that Maine would have thought of as a choice for date night. 

 

He thought that perhaps he should have known better, since word about the live music and the sweet young man with the adorable little boy who used ASL during the songs had gotten around town. Tuesday nights were usually crowded these days, and this Tuesday was no exception. The place was packed nearly to capacity by the time Maine and his friends arrived.

 

Carolina brought York, North, and South, and Florida and Wyoming came together. Maine hadn’t intended to have his entire social group come, he’d just asked if anyone wanted to go with him, and for the first time since he’d started going, they all said yes. He hadn’t wanted it to be weird, to show up on Valentine’s day where Wash, the kind and attentive waiter who’d completely overtaken Maine’s thoughts, worked after he’d left the man a ridiculous origami heart. It had felt appropriate at the because of the month, but as soon as York pointed out how the heart would likely be taken by the man, Maine just felt awkward.

 

South and Wyoming had laughed at him, hard, and even Carolina chuckled a bit. Surprisingly enough, it was Florida who attempted to make him feel better about it. North encouraged Maine gently to make a move, the worst case scenario would be that Washington was uninterested, but at least he would know. Carolina fished for information from her brother and reported that Wash was single, and while not actively looking for a date, was not opposed to relationships.

 

Oddly enough, it was South who provided the most valuable information.

 

“Yeah, so Sister told me that you need to be careful with Wash. He’s…fragile’s not the right word, but it’s close enough. Basically, he’s been through some shit. He’s not a judgy type though, hell, he’d probably understand you pretty well.”

 

York shifted to look at her.

 

“It doesn’t surprise me that he’s fragile. He’s…I don’t know, what’s the word?”

 

Maine brought his index and pointer fingers to his chin and brushed them down it twice.

 

“Yeah, cute! Adorable. You know, kitten-y.”

 

South shrugged.

 

“Apparently he’s the main security for the diner. Broke a man’s arm once for taking a swing at Caboose. Anyway, it’s common knowledge that you’re his favorite customer. He’s still got all of the origami stuff you made him in his apartment.”

 

Something about the knowledge that the man could take care of himself, that he wouldn’t feel intimidated into acceptance, set Maine’s brain to work. It didn’t hurt to know that the other man kept the sculptures.

 

Maine hoped that they read the situation right, that he read Wash correctly. It had been years since he’d really been able to emotionally connect with another person, long before the accident, but Wash with his dorky grin and playful sarcasm managed to rekindle a flame Maine thought long lost.

 

Sister manned the entrance that night, not entirely unusual, but they were early enough that Washington should have been at the front instead. Maine’s stomach flipped unhappily when he realized just how busy the diner was. There was not an empty seat anywhere, and the walls were lined with people who lingered with drinks in hand.  Sister didn’t flirt or start a make out session with South, which was a first, and instead looked immediately relived to see them.

 

“Wow, you’re late! We were taking bets on whether or not you were gonna show up! You almost lost me twenty bucks!”

 

Maine cocked his head to the side, but Sister had already moved on. She searched the room for a place to put the group. It took her a moment to realize that there was literally no open space anywhere.

 

“Uhhhh…”

 

Tucker spotted the group and rushed over. He looked far more harried than Maine was used to him being. Maine didn’t blame him, even on busy nights, they were not ever quite this hectic. Not to mention that holidays brought out the worst in the customers.

 

“Wow, you brought a lot of people this time. I might have been able to squeeze one or two of you in, but seven’s harder to work with.”

 

Carolina scowled and looked around the room.

 

“We had no idea you were going to be so busy.”

 

“Neither did we! We’re never busy! Valentine’s Day is supposed to be relaxing!”

 

Suddenly, Palomo leapt up from the table of college students and grabbed his plate. Maine’s group startled slightly at the abrupt movement, as the young man pulled on Jensen’s arm.

 

“Here, you can take this one, we’ll stand! We like standing! It’s like sitting, but more athletic!”

 

Bitters gave Palomo a fierce scowl, but Andersmith moved swiftly to his feet and offered to hold Jensen and Volleyball’s plates for them. Tucker muttered ‘god damn it, Palomo, you have to make everything weird’, but motioned for Caboose to come over and bus the table quickly. It was a six-seater spot, but they managed to squeeze in a spare chair and get the group settled.

 

Florida gave a grin and whispered conspiratorially to the table.

 

“So, where’s the waiter we’re all so enamored with?”

 

Carolina shrugged.

 

“Probably getting ready. He gets nervous and there are more people here than usual.”

 

Sure enough, once they had their food ordered, Donut came out of the back, Junior and Washington’s chairs in his hands. The little boy came out, his hand in Wash’s, with an excited grin on his face.

 

Florida grinned and laid a hand on Maine’s shoulder.

 

“I can see why you like him, he’s cute. Is that his kid?”

 

Carolina shook her head.

 

“No, that’s Junior, he’s Tucker’s son. Wash borrows him for the show. The crowd seems to enjoy it, and I think most of these people actually know Junior and his dad in real life. Still, Wash could be a good dad.”

 

She winked at Maine, who growled and hunched in on himself slightly.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Old Chap. He’s quite the catch, pulling in _diner_ money.”

 

South kicked Wyoming in the shin.

 

“Shut the fuck up and watch the show. He’s a nice guy, and it’s not like he can go back to the military.”

 

The whole table turned to look at South. North leaned in and whispered.

 

“Military?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Kai told me a little about him. He used to be military, something hush hush, though that could have just been to get her to stop asking. There was an accident, someone important died, and he got an honorable discharge and a psych review that said he wasn’t good to be around people anymore.”

 

With that tidbit, it wasn’t hard to see the effects of a military career in the way Wash moved. The knowledge was a surprise, but one that made sense the more he thought about it.

 

Maine looked up at Wash, and saw how intent the man’s face was. He smiled, and Wash beamed back at him. His whole table grinned.

 

They performed several songs, a few standard pieces but mostly upbeat love songs that Junior made faces to. The crowd seemed to eat up the little boy’s reactions, and he responded in kind. It wasn’t until everyone had mostly finished their meals and had settled in to enjoy the rest of the show that the formula changed.

 

Washington stood from his chair and put the guitar down.

 

By the front door, Simmons turned down some of the lights. Grif flicked the switch near the bar so that Washington and Junior had more light on them. While attention had been on him for the whole night, for the first time that evening, Wash had everyone’s undivided focus on him. Including Maine.

 

“The regulars will tell you that we mix in some original music every show, usually toward the end, with enough warning that you don’t have to stick around for it if that’s not your thing. This time, the little guy and I are doing something different. I…I’ve had something I want to get off of my chest for a while now.”

 

Wash ran his hand through his hair, rolled his shoulders, and smiled at Junior. The little boy stood up in his chair and gave Wash a toothy grin.

 

“You ready kid?”

  
Junior nodded, straightened himself out, and faced forward.

 

During most shows, Wash wouldn’t look directly at anyone. He regularly swept the room to gauge faces, but never lingered for more than a second or two. He told Maine once that he wouldn’t be able to focus on his guitar if he had to pay attention to faces in the crowd. This night was different. Wash locked eyes with Maine, smiled that self-conscious smile of his, and started to sing.

 

They pointed at Maine, used both hands as he pinched his fingers together and spread them wide, then pointed their index fingers to the ceiling and made a circle with both hands. It took Maine’s mind a few seconds to catch up to what he saw.

_“You light up the room_

_And you don’t even know,_

_It’s all I can do_

_Just to leave you alone.”_

 

The whole building watched with varying degrees of admiration as Wash and Junior signed together. Maine’s eyes grew wide as the two went through the motions, and a soft, soppy smile crossed his face.

_“But don’t bring me flowers,_

_You worry too much._

_Oh, My Darlin’,_

_To know you see me,_

_It’s enough. “_

 

Maine quickly motioned to himself, brought his index and middle fingers next to his right eye, gestured straight forward, and motioned towards Wash. The blond waiter’s face lit up. He grinned and tried not to laugh as he sang.

_“We can dance around the kitchen,_

_Candles cost nothin’,_

_You can make me a ring_

_From a milk bottle top._

_When the money runs out in the meter,_

_Maybe we’ll stop.”_

 

Wash’s face turned melancholy for just a second before he shrugged and his face took on a gentle smile. Wyoming and Florida had grabbed each other’s hands at some point and leaned against each other. Florida pressed a quick kiss right next to Wyoming's mustache.

 

York clapped Maine on the shoulder and gave Wash a thumbs up. Maine didn’t bother to elbow the man this time.

_“But you light up the room,_

_And you don’t even know,_

_It’s all I can do_

_Just to leave you alone.”_

 

Wash looked like he was trying so hard not to dip his head and look away. His head would twitch, then correct itself, over and over. Still, his smile said that he wanted to be there. He _wanted_ to be there.

_“So babe, who needs chocolate,_

_All that champagne, and stuff?_

_Oh, My Darlin’,_

_To know you love me,_

_It’s enough.”_

 

As soon as the song ended, Simmons flipped up the lights and the restaurant burst into applause. Junior jumped into Wash’s arms with an excited ‘BLARGH!’ and bounced in Wash’s hold.

 

Wash immediately broke eye contact and ducked his head, clearly unsure of how Maine would react to the knowledge that Wash had written a song about him. Maine wondered how many of the songs had been written about him in the past four months. How many times had the awkward waiter tried to get his attention, only for Maine’s own insecurities to get in the way?

 

Maine stood up from the table while people still applauded and made his way to where Wash stood. Wash set Junior down and motioned for him to go to his dad, who dropped to one knee and opened his arms to the honking child.

 

Maine waited for the little boy to run to his father before he moved into Wash’s space. The shorter man nervously wrung his hands, and didn’t look up at Maine. At some point the courage he’d been filled with must have drained out of him. It hurt Maine’s chest to see how quickly Wash’s confidence fell.

 

As carefully as he could, Maine reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and brought the contents directly under Washington’s face.

 

It was a tiny origami turtle, meticulously folded, on a dark red patterned paper, with a origami cat on top of the shell. Maine had cheated a little and actually glued the cat to the shell, but he thought the aesthetic was worth it for what he wanted to say.

 

Wash looked up at Maine, who smiled down at him gently and signed to him again. He motioned to himself, brought his index and middle fingers next to his right eye, gestured straight forward, and motioned towards Wash.

 

As gently as he could Wash took the tiny sculpture, no more than an inch across, and brought it to his chest. They both grinned awkwardly at each other, and could have continued for most of the night if it weren’t for the other people in the building.

 

“Just kiss him already!” Tucker shouted.

 

“Yeah,” York agreed, “Kiss him!”

 

South, Florida, Sister, and the college students all began to chant ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’. Junior joined in with his own ‘Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!’. Wyoming eagerly chimed in ‘Kiss him, Mate!’

 

Sarge, Lopez, and Grif peeked their heads out of the kitchen and grinned, while Church yelled at Caboose that he was not allowed to make them kiss just because they were slow, and Donut waved his left hand at Church in an attempt to get the man to be quiet.

 

Maine placed a hand on Wash’s cheek, leaned in, and pressed their lips together. Wash wrapped his arms around Maine’s shoulders and pulled the man in tighter.

 

The cheers grew louder, but the two hardly noticed. They pressed their foreheads together when the kiss ended and laughed. Wash looked down at the turtle and cat cradled in his hand and grasped Maine’s with the other.

 

“I see you, too.”

_Some things in life are three for a dollar, like gross candy or cookies at McDonalds. Some things – like the moment a person truly listens to your heart – are priceless._

_There are thousands of love stories waiting to happen every day in the multiverse. Stories that are less gay than this one, stories that are more gay, stories that are about sentient pie._

_But this love. Maybe it’s fate, destiny, hell dudes. I don’t know. This is just one story, and I’m just the guy narrating._

_My name is Vic, and this is the Red vs Blue Multiverse._

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it all the way to the end of this, thank you! Even if you didn't like it, you stuck through this mess to the end. That is no small thing.
> 
> I have mixed feelings about putting this up since I haven't actually posted a fanfic in years, but I got all the way through this, and I figured 'why not'?
> 
> This fic is based around 'Cornetto Cupidity, Kismet Diner', which can be found on youtube, though this is more like its freaky mutated spawn. My original draft was only 300 words, and I still can't decide if this is better or worse. 
> 
> If you liked it, hated it, found it tolerable, or had any emotional response whatsoever, please leave a comment.


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